


whether near or far (i am always yours)

by xxrisque



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxrisque/pseuds/xxrisque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you’d asked thirteen year old Combeferre where he saw himself in fifteen years, he would not have said ‘<i>spooning my soulmate of nine years while he snores loudly next to me in bed and plotting how to ask him to marry me</i>’.</p><p>And yet here he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whether near or far (i am always yours)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [confuoco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/confuoco/gifts).



> for the Courferre Holiday Exchange!
> 
> for Kate courf, I hope you like it! c:
> 
> I tried to include all of your prompts in one for _**maximum fluff**_

If you’d asked thirteen year old Combeferre where he saw himself in fifteen years, he would not have said ‘ _spooning my soulmate of nine years while he snores loudly next to me in bed and plotting how to ask him to marry me_ ’.

And yet here he is.

Courfeyrac is sprawled next to him, his wild dark curls tickling Combeferre’s nose as he presses his back against his chest. Combeferre smiles sleepily at him, fingers curling around the sharp angle of Courfeyrac’s hipbone. Courfeyrac snuffles sleepily, blindly finding Combeferre’s hand and twisting them together, pulling Combeferre’s arm firmly around him. Combeferre smiles absently, ducking to press a few quick kisses against the back of his boyfriend’s neck. Courfeyrac makes a sleepy, pleased sound but doesn’t wake, instead forcing himself back into Combeferre’s grip and burying himself deeper into the covers.

Combeferre persists, looping his other arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulder and trailing soft kisses across his shoulder blades. Courfeyrac shuffles, rolling over with a soft grumble and digging his nose into Combeferre’s collarbone.

His Words are there, stark black against freckled, pale skin, and Combeferre still sometimes forgets how annoyed he’d been when they came in when he was younger.

He’d heard myths of people who had ‘ _hello_ ’ or something equally common, and he felt for them, really he did, but at sixteen he wasn’t exactly pleased to discover ‘ _did it hurt when you fell from heaven?_ ’ written in a messy, loopy scrawl parallel with his collarbone. The fact that the supposed love of his life was going to draw him in with a -frankly awful- pick up line wasn’t filling him with hope, especially when his friends all had something romantic, or didn’t even have Words at all.

But when he’d met Courfeyrac, not long after he’d started his last round of hospital placements in his third year of university, he found he didn’t mind that much.

He’d walked into his room in accident and emergency knowing only that his patient was twenty and had been injured in an accident related to the recent inner-city protests –Combeferre had been meaning to go himself, actually, but hadn’t managed to find the time.

And Courfeyrac, too dopey and high on pain medication and from the fairly severe head wound he’d managed to give himself, had grinned all goofy and lopsided at him, eyes wide in appreciation.

And then he’d said it.

Combeferre had gaped, mumbling something snarky back because this isn’t the first time this has happened (he’d shaken off many a person in bars because ‘ _hey, my Words are on your skin!_ ’) and Courfeyrac had just stared back at him. It took the other man a moment, frowning deeply at the prescription sheet in his hand before he rolled up his shirt and matched the writing to the mess of letters across his hips.

He’d laughed then, and Combeferre had committed the sound to memory immediately.

Courfeyrac laughs softly as he wakes up, grumbling quietly into Combeferre’s skin as he rolls over properly and coils his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and his legs around his hips.

“Courf,” Combeferre mumbles, burying his face in his hair and hiding a smile. “Courf, come on. It’s Christmas morning.”

Courfeyrac makes a noise not dissimilar to a growl and snuggles deeper against Combeferre. He huffs when he feels his boyfriend’s chest rumble with a gentle laugh and squeezes his arms tighter around his neck out of spite.

“It’s also not even ten in the morning.”

Combeferre just smiles, ducking down to press a quick kiss to the tip of Courfeyrac’s nose. Courfeyrac finally opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow at him, bleary with sleep.

“It’s Christmas. We’re going to your mothers’ for dinner and I know you’re excited. Your nephew will be there. It’s his first Christmas.”

Courfeyrac makes a noncommittal noise under his breath and buries himself in the blankets again, so deep that Combeferre can just see his curls poking out between his arms.

“But I want to stay here. With you,” Courfeyrac mumbles, pressing even tighter to Combeferre’s side and making the older man smile softly to himself. “It’s cold outside of the bed.”

“We can have ten more minutes, then we really need to get up,” Combeferre reasons with him, and Courfeyrac almost _purrs_  at him, shuffling about until he can kiss Combeferre firmly.

Combeferre smiles into the kiss, kissing him back happily. Courfeyrac hums against his mouth and tangles his fingers in the short hairs at the back of Combeferre’s neck and pulls him in closer, rolling on to his knees and straddling him, knees firm at his hips.

Combeferre smiles, deepening their kiss and shifting his hands to Courfeyrac’s hips, fingers idly tracing the Words written there in his own barely legible scrawl. Courfeyrac pulls away for a fraction of a second to laugh softly at him, hands finding the hem of Combeferre’s tee and pulling it over his head.

Courfeyrac rides him slowly, hands on Combeferre’s shoulders as he works his hips. Combeferre, for his part, keeps one hand on Courfeyrac’s side and tangles the other in his hair, pulling him down for a messy, open-mouthed kiss.

Courfeyrac comes first, moaning quietly into Combeferre’s mouth as he does, a pink flush high on his cheeks. Combeferre follows after, fingers digging into Courfeyrac’s hips and with an exhale of his name leaving his lips.

They sit entwined for a moment, catching their breath, and Courfeyrac meets his eyes and smiles. He leans forward, curls sticking to his forehead a little, and leans heavily against Combeferre, laughing into his neck.

Combeferre swallows, his voice sticking in his throat.

“Marry me,” he says softly, after a few moments of silence.

“What?” Courfeyrac murmurs, lifting his head to look up at Combeferre through messy hair.

“Marry me,” Combeferre repeats, stronger this time, clumsily running a hand over Courfeyrac’s hair to push it out of his face.

“Really?” Courfeyrac stares at him wide eyed, pushing back to rest back on his knees and look Combeferre dead in the eyes.

“Well, yes,” Combeferre says sheepishly, reaching for his glasses where he’d left them on the nightstand. “I’d hoped to make it maybe a little more romantic than that, but-”

“Yes,” Courfeyrac interrupts him. Combeferre starts, surprised, and stares at him. “Yeah, okay. Let’s get married.”

Combeferre gapes at him, and Courfeyrac laughs and ducks forward to kiss a smile on to his face.

They finally make it out of bed an hour or so later, dressed in their matching Christmas sweaters (an early gift from Jehan, who seems convinced that they’re xyr finest work) and Combeferre presses a small box into Courfeyrac’s hand.

“If you plan on telling your mums and your sisters about this, you might want this.”

Courfeyrac raises an eyebrow at him and pops the box open. He grins up at Combeferre and slides the ring on to his finger, pushing himself up onto the balls of his feet to kiss him hard.

“I love you,” he murmurs into Combeferre’s mouth as he kisses him, and he takes a photograph of them both with his phone. “We should tell our friends.”

“I love you too,” Combeferre replies, pulling him in tight for a hug. “You can do the honours.”

“I already have,” Courfeyrac grins lopsidedly at him and hands him his phone.

It’s an Instagram post, a slightly out of focus photograph of their kiss. Only their jawlines and jumpers are really visible, the colours cast rainbow thanks to the fairy lights hanging behind them. He smiles stupidly to himself when he sees the caption.

_I said yes. #bae_

 


End file.
